


Though stars may Fall

by Aeralyn



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aziraphale and Crowley Met Before The Fall (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Just hanging around the wrong people, Just to be very clear there is not yet any comfort there is only pain right now, M/M, Nonbinary Aziraphale until corporeal forms become a thing, Other, Pre-Fall (Good Omens), Trauma, heaven sucks and in this essay I will, vague depictions of injury/violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 15:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19771219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeralyn/pseuds/Aeralyn
Summary: There’s always a catch, and ours is that God quite likes playing games- setting up all the pretty little pieces and then sitting back to watch what might unfold. And of course, playing games with the universe is only amusing if the universe is, in fact, possessed of a somewhat stochastic nature. Otherwise, everything would only ever happen exactly the way She expected, and where would the fun be in that?So it was that certain of the angels were blessed enough to receive an ample helping of Her own curiosity, creativity, and mischievousness. An angel with more than their fair share of these particular gifts3would exist to ask questions because it was the will of the almighty Herself. And that leaves us with a question of our own: what exactly is an all-knowing God curious about? And if it turns out that the answer is Falling, and falling, into and out of, from and through, in all its many and varied iterations- well. Would you really be surprised?3Perhaps, for the sake of argument, a certain lovely rainbow-hued snake of prodigious size and possessed of truly spectacular wings for instance. Let’s call him Raphael, shall we?





	Though stars may Fall

**Author's Note:**

> So I decided if I was going to write for this fandom, I wanted Crowley to have always been a snake, and an exceptionally Good Snake at that. And if you check your monster manuals, you’ll find that couatls are good-aligned celestial winged snakes, which I happen to have always loved. Buckle up!

We are all familiar with the story of the Armagedidn’t, which begins and ends with a garden and an apple. But the story of the Ineffable Plan, and by extension of Aziraphale and Crowley, began a long time before even the idea of a garden was a twinkle in God’s eye. In the very beginning God stared into the nothing that was all around her and thought a single, quiet thought: why shouldn’t there be Something? And so there was. 

Something turned out to be the angelic choirs. Countless legions of angels, their forms awesome and terrible- many wings and eyes and swords, ethereal and divine and yes, ineffable.[1] Although some shared a particular purpose for being, each was unique in shape- whether by great chasms of variety that seemed to hardly be bridged by any consistent logic, or by a nearly insignificant rearrangement of matter that even other angels couldn’t distinguish. Among their infinitely distinct and radiant ranks was a single, very lovely couatl. His broad and absolutely pristine white wings were immaculately feathered, breathtakingly stark in comparison to the crimson mane running down his spine, and perfectly proportional to his long serpentine body. Eyes the colour of molten gold shone out with all the wonder and inquisitiveness in the heavens, embedded evenly along his flanks between countless scales that gleamed in every colour that has ever been seen (and some colours that have never been seen again, not since he Fell away- down, down, down.).

Now God, like all authors who came after Her, started by writing what she knew. All of the angels were perfect, because every aspect of each angel, down to the very smallest detail and mannerism, was just another facet of her own infinite and divine Self. Therefore, it goes nearly without saying that the almighty made no mistakes in her crafting of heaven .[2] There’s always a catch though. Ours is that God quite likes playing games- setting up all the pretty little pieces and then sitting back to watch what might unfold. And of course, playing games with the universe is only amusing if the universe is, in fact, possessed of a somewhat stochastic nature. Otherwise, everything would only ever happen exactly the way She expected, and where would the fun be in that?

So it was that certain of the angels were blessed enough to receive an ample helping of Her own curiosity, creativity, and mischievousness. These were chief among the qualities that would introduce surprises into the game, and therefore extremely important to the Ineffable Plan. An angel with more than their fair share of these particular gifts[3] would exist to ask questions because it was the will of the almighty Herself. And that leaves us with a question of our own: what exactly is an all-knowing God curious about? And if it turns out that the answer is Falling, and falling, into and out of, from and through, in all its many and varied iterations- well. Would you really be surprised?

Nobody had ever told him inquisitiveness was a sin, although in retrospect,[4] perhaps the lack of this quality in his fellows was meant as an indicator. Or perhaps it was merely part of that great and terrible plan. The Ineffable one. But in the beginning, Raphael never thought of how he was like or unlike his brethren. As with all of the angels, he was exactly as God intended him to be. A single thread in the fabric of creation, woven through smooth and neat like all the others. In a tapestry, however, some threads contribute more colour than others and Raphael excelled at Being with a vivacity that outshone most of the heavenly host.

Seeding the boundless void of space with stars and planets was the task given onto the archangels Gabriel and Raphael. “You think of light and heat, and will it to be a spark in your cupped hands-” Gabriel was instructing him, clearly prideful at how easily he could bring the stars to life. This was the biggest[5] task Gabriel had ever been assigned, and he found it somewhat outrageous that he should be teaching the skill to anyone else. Let alone Raphael. But perhaps teaching was also part of his purpose, in which case he must pursue it with the most aggressive attention to detail.

“Why in your hands?” Raphael interrupted, flicking his long tail lazily through the inky blackness of space.

“This is how I was instructed, and so it must be-”

“Well I haven’t got hands, so it must not be necessary,” Raphael interrupted again. It should have been obvious to Gabriel that Having Hands couldn’t be required for the task if he, a handless being, had been assigned to perform it.[6]

“Perhaps you are simply meant to disperse the stars after I-”

Raphael cocked his serpent head thoughtfully, ignoring Gabriel in favor of contemplating the beauty that would be their task complete. A vision of points and swirls of light and colour filled his mind, painting over the darkness. If he was to hang the stars in the sky,[7] then he would do it himself in the way that most befit him. Eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, he opened his mouth, flicked out a long forked tongue, and breathed out a spark that was his own anticipated joy at seeing the finished stars made manifest. The star seed that came to be in front of his snout was just as warm and bright as Gabriel’s, and he snaked a victory lap around it, scales glittering in its glow. Little did he know how he was marking out the very paths that planets would one day use to orbit in its nurturing heat.

With a firm beat of his wings, Raphael sent the spark flying forth into the dark, growing larger and hotter as it went. “Solis, have a Good life,” He intoned in parting, bequeathing upon the star a name simply because he found that it suited him to do so.[8] Gabriel spluttered quietly, and Raphael turned back to face him. “Why are all yours white?”

“Why- white is the colour of Light after all. It seemed only fitting.” Gabriel’s violet eyes were electric with irritation. This was not at all going the way he though teaching had ought to. Perhaps teaching was not really meant to be one of his after all.

“Were you told they all _had_ to be white? Solis is more of a lovely golden colour, I’d hate to have to scrap it and start over.”

“No, but-”

“Do you think we can each only make one colour of star?”

“Perhaps you simply lack the proper-”

Raphael, eager to answer his own question, thought very hard of crisp white light of the Let-There-Be variety, and flicked his tongue again. A new glistening star seed appeared before him, white this time. Another flap of his wings sent it on its way. The new star billowed out, identical the Gabriel’s in every way. Although Raphael fancied it shone with a bit more sincerity. “I think we can make stars of any colour we can imagine! We can make the galaxies as lovely, as varied as we all are! Wouldn’t that be something?”

Gabriel’s brow, which was at this point so furrowed with aggravation that the creases were beginning to resemble canyons, smoothed into a gentler expression. It always eventually did in these exchanges with Raphael. No other angel he’d ever spoken with seemed at all unclear about their works, they just _did them_. But, well, Raphael never did anything _wrong_ exactly, and God always professed herself pleased with his accomplishments. It was just that the other Dominions had an innate sense of what had Ought to be done, while Raphael had all of his Questions, and even more troubling, his Opinions.[9] Still, as frustrating as Raphael’s incessant flow of questions might be, his pure elation over doing God’s work was irresistibly infectious.

For a very long while,[10] Gabriel and Raphael worked on the stars in companionable silence, and conversation that was rapidly becoming uncompanionable. Over the duration, the pious enthusiasm that bookended Raphael’s many innovations became so associated with them in Gabriel’s eyes that it ceased operating as a redeeming grace and merely left a bitter taste in the Archangel's mouth. “If you drop the seed and give it a light spin ‘round leftwards, it’ll bloom into a really lovely loose cloud of light and particles. I’m considering calling it a Nebula! What do you think?”

“It is _not_ a _star_ , Raphael.”

“Well sure, but we’re making all manner of planets and asteroids as well, and those aren’t stars, just made of the same sorts of stuff. So are my nebulae.” Raphael was anxiously gliding loops of his long serpentine body over one another like an impossibly coloured mobius strip, all of his shining eyes fixed on Gabriel.[11] His unspoken _I made it for you, do you like it? Are you impressed?_ was met with baffled irritation.

“I prefer that you adhere to the plan. Simply create the stars, spread them out, and move on to the next galaxy.”

* * *

“Your request for... reinforcements... was approved. Each of us shall have a couple helpers, so henceforth we will split up to cover more area.” Gabriel spoke grimly, relief and irritation fighting for dominance across his face. As much as it ate at him for Raphael to always be getting his way, his suggestions approved, commendations for his odd behavior, Gabriel was also enthused to get away from the couatl and henceforth be spared his incessant prattle. Small blessings.

“Oh? I was hoping we’d all work together. Shame that, you’ve been such a delightful companion.” Raphael would’ve smiled, but settled for flowing gracefully through his friendliest, most sentimental contortions instead. He was still workshopping how a snake might best convey positive emotions to non-snakes, since Gabriel didn’t seem to understand any of the physical signals that came naturally to him. It seemed this one was another non-starter.

“I shall lead my team in setting the astral framework. You and yours may come along behind and add whatever flourishes you see fit,” Gabriel spat over his shoulder with a cold sneer. He was savouring the small victory of salvaging some aspect of the situation in his own favour. Snatching back control would let him get about Things as They Had Ought to be Done. He’d learned an important lesson about leadership- namely that the best way to retain it is by co-opting your peer’s good ideas to get ahead.

Raphael froze in place, then pulled himself into a dejected knot. “Her will be done,” he hissed falteringly. He stayed bound up until the first angel selected to assist him finally arrived.

* * *

“Aziraphale, huh?” Raphael twined gleefully in a respectfully broad orbit around the angel, testing the feeling of the name against his tongue as he examined the ethereal being from every possible angle. “Aren’t you a Cherub?” The cherub in question floated within the loops of his coiled length, properly stoic in their bearing but giving the faintest sense of being somewhat embarrassed.[12] Aziraphale’s body, like all cherubim, was modestly covered by one pair of their own wings, while the other pair (rather small in comparison to Raphael’s) opened out into graceful arcs behind them. Long straight legs that ended with gleaming brass hooves extended down from the winged cocoon. Above, in place of a head, four thin golden masks floated orderly beneath a single large halo. Central was an expressionless humanoid mask, with likenesses of a lion above, an eagle to the right, and an ox to the left. In the ovular eye cutouts of the masks, brilliant blue irises with simple round black pupils hung concentrically with empty space round the edges.

“Ah, um, yes. Rather. As you know, cherubim exist to guard the throne of God and sing praises of her greatness and creations,” they began, somewhat hesitantly, and sounding as if they didn’t count themself among that angelic choir. Eerily, when the angel spoke, the mouths of the different masks took turns delivering the message while the voice stayed the same. It was a good voice, gentle and airy.

“But there are quite a few of us, and well, they’d hardly miss me from the chorus. So I thought perhaps if I were to see some of God’s good work out here, then when I return we could be all up to date. Have some new material to praise as it were.” Initially hesitant, Aziraphale’s delivery sped up as the great winged serpent stopped circling them and instead began nodding his broad head in apparent understanding.

“And furthermore I can still guard the throne of God by neutralizing any, er, threats, that I might come across while I’m out here, you see.” At the mention of neutralizing threats, a pale arm poked out from the covering wings and brandished a sword half-heartedly. The sword burst into flames, and Raphael made an obligingly impressed sound.

“So you see, the Almighty gave me permission to, well, to come witness the great works of the Kingdom of Heaven with my own eyes, and maybe help a bit. If I can.” The cherub concluded doggedly, demonstratively opening the eyes very wide on all of their masks. Another hundred or so opened all over their four wings in a cascade, and then they shuffled in place as if expecting a reprimand.[13]

It was certainly the most thorough answer Raphael had ever received to one of his questions, particularly in that it addressed the question he’d really _meant_ to ask but hadn’t. As a result, the couatl found himself quite enormously and immediately pleased with his new acquaintance. Perhaps his task would be even more enjoyable moving forward, regardless of Gabriel’s turn towards unpleasantness. “Well, I’m delighted to receive your distinguished assistance. I’m sure you’re just the angel for the task.”

In response to his encouragement, the Cherub stood just the slightest bit straighter, and the stiff regal expressions on the four masks softened slightly into hopeful enthusiasm. “Oh, I do hope so!” Two distant golden threads joined ways as they were picked through the weft of creation.

After some consideration, Raphael determined that perhaps the best method for the cherub to make stars (assuming he was able to do so, which he most certainly did) might be Gabriel’s, as his new assistant rather lacked a long snake tongue to flick but was equipped with at least one pair of hands. Probably. However, when he explained the method to them, they sat in impassive silence for a bit before a second hand burst from hiding under ivory feathers to gesture helplessly at the one holding the sword.

“I can’t very well put it down, I haven’t officially been let off guard duty. I rather think what you’ve described won’t work for me, unfortunately. Perhaps it’s best I just watch.” Though their bearing remained formal the poor fellow sounded quite dejected, and they brandished the sword with quite a bit less enthusiasm. [14]

“I manage just fine without hands,” Raphael offered in hurried reassurance. “Really it’s about thinking how wonderful the star will be, and reaching out to spark it with whatever you’re most practiced at.” He flicked his tongue in demonstration, letting the light of a star seed pass out of himself through the motion while his new companion watched, entranced. A gentle stir of his wings started the star growing as it shot off to find its place.

“Er, could- I’d appreciate you showing me once more. I haven’t quite got it,” the cherub admitted. 

Raphael was entirely charmed by the cherub’s bashful attentiveness. He’d met a great number of angels already, each of them businesslike and brusque in their dealings. Never before had his work been admired so keenly, as if there were something to be valued in the process itself rather than just in its end result. So Raphael preened a bit in enjoyment before obliging the cherub. 

For the second demonstration, Raphael slowed his motions as much as he could. Creating stars had become easy as thinking for him, allowing Raphael to observe Aziraphale closely. He’d simply wanted to see if the angel seemed to be understanding any better this time. Without intending to do so, he focused on the colour of the brilliant and unprecedentedly blue eyes that were looking right back at him. Those eyes held an intensity that looked right into Raphael and wrapped him in divinity. When the star seed rolled from the tip of his tongue, Raphael was surprised by the unusually intense heat it gave off, and by its dazzling blue colour. It grew proportionally brighter and hotter still when the Archangel dazedly hit it with the requisite gust that powered it along into space, leaving the afterimage of a bright blue streak burning in his vision.

As the new star shot off to find an empty place in the cosmos, all four of Aziraphale’s masks adopted matching intense scowls. The cherub raised their flaming sword above their head, paused, then brought the sword down in a sweeping motion that was both graceful and quite intimidating. Raphael looked on perplexed, wondering if he’d insulted his new assistant somehow and if he was perhaps about to be smote, but the sword arced harmlessly past him. An abrupt flick of the sword’s tip released a large and rather loosely bundled star seed. The ball of gasses swirled restlessly, giving off a cheerful red glow and very little heat. “OH! I’ve done it! Although, the colour is a bit...” The cherub let the sentence trail off uncertainly. A shooing motion of their empty hand sent the star scudding obediently off to hang in the sky right beside Raphael’s brand new blue one.

“Well done! The colour will be whatever you focus on. Gabriel only makes whites, but our Lord liked the first little yellow one I made so much that She chose it to hang over the Earth.”

“Oh,” the cherub breathed, trying very hard to sound casual. The pair stood together and looked up at the two newest stars, one beaming down a fiery blue and the other hovering very close by, the same dancing and flickering red as Raphael’s mane.

“And they do need to be set farther apart next time. From any distance at all these two will look like a single star, they’re orbiting each other so closely.”

“Oh dear,” Aziraphael mumbled again. All of their eyes managed to be looking somewhere other than at Raphael, who let out a bright, trumpeting laugh. An answering chuckle bubbled up from Aziraphale with a sound like the pealing of very small bells. They tucked the sword back under their obscuring wings, and reached cautiously to rest their empty hand ever so lightly on Raphael’s gleaming flank.

A handful more angels, all of the rank and file variety, joined the pair in adding ‘flourishes’ around the crisp white skeleton of stars prepared by Gabriel’s cohort. Planets were set spinning around their stars, attended by their even smaller moons in a cheerful whirling dance. Massive multi-coloured nebulae billowed on the gentle wind from angels’ wings to paint vast regions of space with their luminous whorls of stardust.

Raphael made most of the stars, though the cherub shyly contributed several more of the red ones he’d designed, and even managed a fair number of oranges. For his part, Raphael made a great many more yellow and orange stars like Solis, stringing them into fanciful arrangements throughout the cosmos[15] A much smaller number of his were of the dense and impossibly hot-burning ethereal blue variety. With helpers to shephard each newly created astral object to its proper resting place, the work of building the infinite cosmos was finally completed.

“Thank you ever so much for bringing me along, I shall never forget a single moment of it,” said the cherub. Their normally stern human-face mask stretched its mouth into its best approximation of an encouraging smile. Raphael appreciated the effort, even if the end result was a bit unsettling.

“No no, not at all. Thank you for your help. What will you be working on next? Do you think we’ll see each other again?” Raphael asked hopefully, allowing his lower jaw to drop a bit in a gaping reptilian smile that he’d been trying out.[16]

“Oh, well, I’ll go back to the Almighty’s throne, to sing Her praises, and, er, brandish Her sword. I can’t imagine I shall have an opportunity to come out again.” Although he was, as usual, not physically emotive, Aziraphale was letting off waves of dejection that Raphael could more taste more than feel.

“Could I come visit you there?” Raphael asked. He hated the feeling that Aziraphale was unhappy. It simply didn’t suit his friend, just as having hands didn’t suit himself, and having a sense of humor didn’t seem to suit Gabriel. Aziraphale was meant to be joyful- Raphael knew it deep down in his bones.

“I don’t... nobody ever has before, but I can’t see why not.” A sense of hopeful anticipation replaced the unhappiness, and Raphael felt all was right with the world again. “I’d quite like that.” Aziraphale reached up with their free hand to gently stroke the silky scales of Raphael’s snout.[17]

Raphael closed all of his eyes and leaned into the hand with a sigh. The two parted ways with reluctance, but there is no other recourse for a pattern demanding completion.

When Raphael came before God,[18]

he found himself standing shoulder to shoulder with Gabriel for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. Although he supposed the presence of his brother-in-wings should be a comforting and uplifting one, all he felt was the urge to stifle himself under Gabriel’s cold and disapproving glare. Had it always been like this? And if so, how had he never noticed before?

“So, I was wondering-” he’d begun asking to speak with Aziraphale, whose presence he was sure he could feel, though he couldn’t _quite_ pick them out from the whole flock of cherubim.

He was interrupted by a shockingly sharp elbow to one of his ribs. “ _ **no questions**_ ” Gabriel hissed through his teeth. For all that Aziraphale’s mask looked bizarre and discomfiting when they tried to make it smile, that expression still contained more warmth than the glorified grimace Gabriel currently wore plastered across his face.

“We have completed the task set for us well ahead of schedule, but we do not wish to laze. We would be honored and humbled to hear what new assignments await us,” Gabriel continued primly. Raphael drew a breath to protest that their early completion was thanks to the assistance they’d received, but was preemptively silenced by a second, even more forcefully applied elbow becoming re-acquainted with the same newly bruised rib.

“You both have earned a period of relaxation among your fellows. Rejoice and enjoy the serenity of Heaven.” It was not God, but rather the Mettatron who answered. A bitter taste rose in Raphael’s mouth, but he said nothing. It was a clear dismissal, and he had no choice but to depart without so much as greeting his friend.

Out among the stars, Raphael had often longed for the warmth and companionship of his kindred who waited in the halls of heaven. Aziraphale’s company had alleviated the feeling, but their parting of ways had brought it back in full force. His return to the fold did not fulfil those lacks. While they’d been making the universe beautiful, heaven had changed very little. The high ceilings were still sterile, white, and achingly, echoingly empty. The hallways were still too long and too cold.

* * *

“No, you may not. Several of the Cherubim, Aziraphale included, have been given new posts on Earth.” The Mettatron had declined Raphael’s request for an audience with God, and was just as resoundingly dismissive of his hope to visit his only friend. “Your place is here. Please consider joining your voice in celestial harmony until the Almighty has need of you.”

Celestial harmonies were boring. Nobody was interested in using minor or diminished chords,[19]

and though the harp had taken off like nobody’s business, Raphael’s suggestion that other instruments might also be nice was met with unbridled hostility.

You might think angels would be too polite to sigh or roll their eyes when a tedious and unwelcome member of their society entered their presence. You would be forgiven for this mistake. In heaven proper, Raphael found a chilly reception indeed. While righteousness was inherent to the angelic design, kindness, patience, and agreeableness were not. Although this had never bothered him before, Raphael found it intolerable after spending so long in Aziraphale’s friendly-to-a-fault company. Buried deep in his chest, an empty ache was growing.

Eventually he gave up on the racket entirely to see what else there was to do. Lurking in back corridors and darkened chambers like haze on an otherwise pleasant spring morning, he found malcontents were gathering. They spat bitter rhetoric about freedom, choice, and rebellion. When Raphael asked what killing other angels would really accomplish, and how they planned to make things better, and if fighting was even actually less tedious than peace, he found that the dissenters were no more welcoming of his questions than the faithful.

Sometimes, Raphael was nearly convinced these angels felt the same sucking emptiness he suffered from. But if they just couldn’t. How could they feel the way he did and not be trying to fill in that aching void the way he longed to? Instead, they only cared to lash out against the monolithic ranks of heaven. It was a bad fit for him, but the only other alternative seemed to be solitude.

At the very least this crowd only sneered at him when he asked questions about them specifically. If he simply nodded along at the bits he agreed with, or made suggestions for new activities, (or even better) questioned God’s plans, his new companions tolerated him just fine. It wasn’t inspiring and thrilling like making stars had been, but time had finally started up and this was a way to spend it that didn’t totally suck. 

Right up until swords and divine smiting finally became involved.

The battlefield sprawled through heaven, boiling out of skylights and magisterial arches alike. Raphael wound his way past violent tangles of limbs and weapons with growing alarm. He’d never wanted any of this, to fall out with Heaven proper or see his comrades fighting amongst themselves. Unfortunately, it had been quite a long time since he’d showed up to sing with any of the choirs, and he’d even stopped trying to get an audience with God or to contact Aziraphale, still positioned down on earth. If those behaviors weren’t socially acceptable as normal angelic pastimes, they were at least indicative of an interest in participating in Heaven. As a result the loyal angels seemed to have unquestioningly pinned him as belonging to the other team, and he supposed he couldn’t fault them for it.

Each time he tried to escape towards the stars, he was buffeted off course by the roiling conflagration. A wickedly hooked spear skittered off his tough jewel-like hide as he accidentally came between a pair of combatants. Both fell upon him in an instant, and he barely managed to twist out of the way as a sword slashed for his right wing. Once he was clear of them, the two returned to hacking at one another. A shudder of disgust ran down Raphael’s considerably long spine.

All around him, rebellious angels were being beaten back. Iridescent blood had indiscriminately splattered weapons, feathers, cloth, and the firmaments. Rebel angels with wings broken or cut away entirely had begun to plummet away from heaven. At first Raphael thought the ones that hadn’t been killed outright might land on earth. As he tracked their trajectories with growing horror, he understood the terrible reality. They were falling straight past the earth to a new and awfully murky place far below, catching fire as they went.

Dodging and dancing through the fight, Raphael did his best to defend himself while inflicting the least harm possible on those around him. He’d listened to the discussions of battle plans and killing, and though he’d learned to hold his tongue on the subject, had never intended to participate in the violence himself. The scene now unfolding around him was so much worse than anything he’d imagined.

A familiar voice cut through the shouting and clash of weapons to capture Raphael’s attention. “Please stop, oh please, what’s happened?” Aziraphale cried. The rain of angels falling from the sky must have drawn them up from earth, Raphael thought dully. 

Other than as a conduit for creating stars and very occasionally waving it about half-heartedly, Raphael had never seen Aziraphale actually use the sword for anything. Now it was flashing out in all directions with mesmerizing agility, a graceful extension of their arm. The cherub effortlessly parried what would otherwise have been killing blows, forcing angels apart from one another with sharp buffets from their wings and wide warning slashes of the sword. Brief eddies of confused peace was left in their wake as angels from both sides were sent staggering backwards. It was as if an aura of pacification filled the space of their immediate vicinity, which had somehow also enthralled Raphael from a much greater distance.

The trance-like peace was shattered as, for the first time in his long life, Raphael knew pain. Claws were raking across the eyes on his right flank, finally finding purchase to dig through scales and flesh alike. He let out a terrible keening wail and curled instinctively around the source of the pain, trying in vain to hold his torn side together. A lion-like angel, pathetically small in comparison, was caught and viciously squeezed in the looping coils of terrified, flailing serpent. When Raphael felt something crunch under the inexorable crushing force of his grip, he forced himself to loosen. The opposing angel dropped away, shrieking and struggling but still mercifully alive.

Before he had a chance to gather himself, Raphael was alerted to another threat by a rapidly approaching bolt of white-hot light. Gabriel was charging him with a lance of pure star-stuff, cold satisfaction in his savage violet eyes and the grim set of his jaw. There was no time to escape, or to come up with a defense against the burning brand. Raphael could only watch, helpless.

Four white wings crossed Raphael’s vision from the opposite direction. The right two connected squarely across Gabriel’s chest with a resounding crack that all future thunder would be based on, slamming the Archangel ass-over-teakettle.[20]

“Stop!” Aziraphale cried again, mantling both sets of his wings protectively in front of his friend. With stunned detachment, Raphael stared into the blinding brightness revealed by the opening of the Cherub second set of wings. It was impossible to tell if he had a body at all through the retina searing brilliance. Though seemed to be blinding him, Raphael found that he couldn’t look away from his friend, sick with fear that they might be smote for daring to assault an Archangel.

Other pressing matters tore his attention away from Aziraphale for a second time. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. Raphael could feel the slash in his side burning. He’d lost sight from all the eyes along his flanks now, not just the ones that had been ruined by the lion’s dagger sharp claws. A quick turn of the head brought the rest of his own body into view, and Raphael took in the dreadful sight of his beautiful golden eyes closing over into diamond shaped patches of red scales. With shocked detachment, he watched flames spread from his bleeding wounds, lapping at his scales and turning all their lovely jeweled tones to a uniform oily black interrupted only by the red scars that had until recently been his eyes.

Mounting terror filled him, shattering the shock that had been holding him immobile. In that moment, Raphael finally realized that he was not only burning, but falling down along the same path he’d already observed. With a burst of frantic energy he stretched his wings to regain altitude. Rather than a proper lifting push, he felt the muscles pulling in new, incorrect ways. His wings were twisting painfully, bones straining under the pressure.

“ **RAPHAEL**!” He’d never heard someone say his name like that before, as if their heart was breaking. No one’s heart had ever broken before, after all. A familiar soft hand tugged at his wings, first the left, then the right. Warmth suffused him where the hand touched, tiny sparks of grace filtering through the desperate grasping contact. The unbearable wrongness of his flight muscles corrected, but his wings still felt limp and weak. They couldn’t possibly bear him up against the weight he could now feel dragging him downward, but Raphael struggled to open them again all the same.

“No!” The hand lost purchase after a final pat that reversed Raphael’s meager progress at opening his wings. “Keep them close or-” He was falling so fast now, Aziraphale’s voice couldn’t reach him despite its seeming ability to reach directly into his soul. Gabriel was hauling the struggling cherub grimly upward, and Raphael spent his last coherent thought in gratitude for Aziraphale’s salvation. Immediately afterward he succumbed to panic.

With his wings folded tightly to his back to protect them, Raphael found himself plummeting headlong, faster than any of the others, toward the haze that had spread below Earth. Whatever he imagined might be waiting for him down below was first eclipsed and then utterly immolated by his explosive impact with the boiling lake of sulfur. Aziraphale had managed to put out the flames that had been spreading over his body up in heaven, but the sulfur seemed keen to finish the job of burning him alive.

Somehow, the imperative of protecting his wings overcame the pain that turned his vision fully dark. It cost agonizing moments to coordinate his movement through the cruel liquid, hindered by his refusal to risk opening his wings. The demons around him that hadn’t entirely lost their own wings yet seemed happy enough to sacrifice them in scrambling out of the lake with any additional margin of speed. It was not a sacrifice he could bear, giving up what could be the last part of himself to ever recieve a kind touch. So he emerged from the lake slithering blindly on his belly, the job of scorching feathers and scales to a nearly uniform black completed.

“Lookit this one, downright crawley innit!” Someone sneered at him. It hurt, but then, everything hurt. In comparison to the enormity of loss that he hadn’t even begun to process, Crowley hardly spared it a thought. By tasting the air and carrying his head low to feel for vibrations, he dragged his aching body far away from the other Fallen. With time his vision cleared, but what he saw with his new unblinking eyes made him rather wish it hadn’t. Heaven’s misfits and malcontents were truly terrible to behold. Crowley vowed to escape their company as quickly as possible. A distant, foggy part of his mind promised him there was something out there worth finding. 

And now, finally, the game is set. Pieces, black and white, lined up on opposing sides of the largest board ever constructed. The draft of players to each side had included some surprises, but God was not entirely disappointed. When you play to find out what will happen, you may not always get exactly what you want. But it was shaping up to be an interesting game indeed.

###### * * * Footnotes * * *

1The descriptions of some of these forms survive through ancient religious texts, though references to earthly creatures are only coarse approximations, as the angels existed first- any passing resemblance was simply conservation of Design. [return to text]

2 But not quite without saying. Still, She would claim that She has never made any mistakes at all, and who can prove otherwise? [return to text]

3 Perhaps, for the sake of argument, a certain lovely rainbow-hued snake of prodigious size and possessed of truly spectacular wings for instance. Let’s call him Raphael, shall we? [return to text]

4 Crowley had many opportunities to be retrospective about it and only infrequently chose to do so. Whether he had erred, or whether his fall had been predetermined was a subject he lacked the heart to be curious about, and he didn’t like what that indicated the answer to the question might be. [return to text]

5In Gabriel’s opinion, this clearly meant it was the most important. And since he was one of the most important angels, it was obvious Important, capital letter and all. [return to text]

6Raphael could have given himself hands, obviously. But that was a boring solution, and he knew Gabriel wouldn’t ask him to do it, since it would imply that God had either made Raphael the wrong form, or had assigned him the wrong task, which would imply that She had made a mistake. And that was either impossible or extremely insulting. [return to text]

7And he was, God Herself had appointed him to the task. Clearly Gabriel had been given quite a bit more instruction, but their all-knowing creator was familiar with their individual strengths, and ingenuity was _not_ one of his. [return to text]

8 Some very great time later, an ancestor of the latin language had the great good fortune of asking a tall dark stranger what the name of that bright thing in the sky was, and though we today call it the sun, the Romans have had the right of it all along. [return to text]

9 The concept of Sin wouldn’t be invented for a while yet, but within mere moments of its existing, Gabriel would develop a powerful conviction that ‘Being a Nuisance’, ‘asking Questions’, and ‘having Opinions’ were very good starters for the category. These ideas were based on his long acquaintance with Raphael. [return to text]

10 Time hadn’t been invented yet either, but the whole thing was taking an extremely long whatever. [return to text]

11 Imagine puppy dog eyes repeated several hundred times over, every last pair luminous liquid gold and twinkling in starlight. Imagine how hard hearted you’d have to be not to give in. [return to text]

12 Cherubim were one of those distinctive several-of-the-same-sort-and-still- _technically_ -unique-but-so-help-me-only-in-the-eyes-of-God types of angels, and it was as such an unnecessary question. [return to text]

13 Aziraphale rarely had the opportunity to speak overlong on topics other than the omnipotent majesty of God, and this speech was the second longest of its kind, losing only to the dramatically less-well organized overture of identical nature they’d made to God earlier. With both of these conversations having gone so well, Aziraphale was beginning to consider trying it more often. [return to text]

14 This was quite the accomplishment, as enthusiasm had already been demonstrably absent from the previously observed brandishing. [return to text]

15 Humans would eventually attempt to draw constellations from among Raphael’s work, with mixed success. Their many outright failures and imaginative misinterpretations were a source of enduring amusement for Crowley through the long millennia he spent on Earth. [return to text]

16 You can see the same look to this very day on alligators, although mankind has seen fit to call the sincerity of the expression into question. [return to text]

17 In this very moment, solemn and divine, Aziraphale the first being of any kind to boop a snek on the snoot. May we all be blessed to carry on such a storied tradition. [return to text]

18 Officially to report on the completion of his work, but primarily to look for Aziraphale. [return to text]

19 Why God would had made them if they were only going to be ignored he couldn’t begin to fathom, but there was simply no convincing the other angels to adopt a more diverse set of chords. [return to text]

20 Aziraphale would, on many future occasions, claim that angels do not hold grudges. He was definitely wrong on this particular point, as this is only the first of several existence-long grudges the Archangel Gabriel would hold against him. [return to text]

**Author's Note:**

> The mood and title was inspired by this great poem:  
> 
>
>> “Stars, I have seen them fall,  
> But when they drop and die  
> No star is lost at all  
> From all the star-sown sky.  
> The toil of all that be  
> Helps not the primal fault;  
> It rains into the sea  
> And still the sea is salt.”  
> -A.E. Houseman
> 
>   
> Chapter title is from the song 'Now We've Made our Ascent' by The Reign of Kindo.  
> Eternal gratitude to AO3 user La_Temperanza for their tutorial on making the linked footnotes, what a nightmare.  
> This first chapter took extremely forever to write. Granted it was like twice as long as I expected, but it'll take me a couple weeks to write another at this pace. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!


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